


An Empty Space Where Your Heart Should Be

by uistic



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: M/M, Past Dean Ambrose | Jon Moxley/Roman Reigns/Seth Rollins | Tyler Black
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 22:16:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7010524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uistic/pseuds/uistic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You know what I thought when that chair hit me?"</p><p>Seth goes still. Roman doesn't look at him, but then he doesn’t have to. He knows this particular brand of guilty silence, knows Seth is swallowing, casting about for someplace safe to rest his gaze.</p><p>"Finally. That’s what I thought. Fucking finally."</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Empty Space Where Your Heart Should Be

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime late summer 2014.

Roman has no idea how he ended up in Seth Rollins' hotel room, sprawled on the covers of the queen sized bed, listening to his former friend, tag team partner and brother pondering the challenges of being a traitor.

"Nobody trusts you," he says, sitting crosslegged next to Roman, tracing distracting patterns along his arm. "They've seen you turn, so they know you could do it again. The Authority talks a good game about unity, but if they see me with you I'll be spending weeks bending over backwards trying to convince them I'm not planning a double cross."

Roman frowns at him. Tries to, at least. He's drunk enough to think seeking out Seth was a good idea, drunk enough to end up in his bed rather than punching him in the face like he meant to, and that means the room is spinning and he's not entirely sure what his face is doing. "I'm supposed to feel sorry for you?"

"What?" Seth squawks, indignant. "No! I'm just saying."

"To me? That’s stupid."

"Your face is stupid," Seth says, and yeah, maybe Roman’s not the only one who had a bit too much to drink. Seth’s always been a lightweight, doesn't drink often enough to build up any stamina. 

"Your pants are stupid."

Seth giggles. Honest to God. He giggles and punches Roman’s arm, and Roman is inches away from putting him in a headlock and ruffling his hair before he remembers: backstabber, traitor.

Dean.

Dean's always been the stronger one. He wouldn't be here. Wouldn't do this. Dean channels his hurt into the ring, going from full on retaliation to violent pranks, dishing it out as good as he gets, vicious and glorious and brave, wearing all his emotions on his sleeve and using it to cut promos that will make wrestling history. While Roman, just. Can't. Can't hate Seth. Can't hurt him. Can't forgive, either. Can barely stand to look at the stranger that has replaced his brother in the ring. It's easier to focus his rage on Randy Orton and Triple H. It helps keep things in perspective. Because every time he looks at Seth, he remembers.

You don’t work together, ride together, fight and eat and sleep together for so long without getting to know a guy. Without getting to love him, at least a little. There's a Seth-shaped hole in his life, a tangible absence in every rental car, locker room and cheap hotel. Seth is the chill in bed and the painful silence in every conversation and Roman misses him like a limb. Even now, with Seth close enough that Roman can feel his warmth, he misses him. It never goes away. The only time Roman feels halfway whole these days is when he's wrestling, but a match can only last so long. It kills him that Seth did that. That Seth broke them. And that he's here, on his bed, like it's okay, like he's forgiven.

"You know what I thought when that chair hit me?"

Seth goes still. Roman doesn't look at him, but then he doesn’t have to. He knows this particular brand of guilty silence, knows Seth is swallowing, casting about for someplace safe to rest his gaze.

"Finally. That’s what I thought. Fucking finally. You'd been weird for weeks. Twitchy and guilty as fuck, paranoid and sentimental. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. Couldn't sleep. It was like sharing a room with a train wreck waiting to happen. Kept telling myself it was just stress, the war with Evolution getting to you, but I knew, man. I knew. You can’t lie worth shit."

The silence stretches out between them, grows into an entity of its own, a third person wedged between them on the bed.

"I'm-" Seth eventually says, and Roman shakes his head.

"Don't you fucking apologize."

"I wasn't going to. I tore us down to make us great. And yeah, I did it for me, but it's a little dising- dishen- dishing-" Seth takes a breath "- _not honest_ of you to act like you didn't stand to gain from it too."

Roman pushes himself up, staring at Seth in disbelief. "How the fuck did you make us _great_? You wrecked us! We had the world and then you- you-"

The look Seth gives him is downright painful. Weary and pitying and weirdly disappointed at the same time, like he can't believe Roman could be so naive. Roman hates that look. Hates that just because he hasn't done the indie circuit like his brothers, they sometimes treat him like. Well. A beginner. This is his life, same as theirs. He lives and breathes wrestling, and though he knows he's behind in terms of experience, he's no idiot.

"You've got to go out with a bang," Seth explains, surprisingly gentle. "You've got to make it big, brutal, heartwrenching. Make it so they can't forget it. They liked the Shield. But now, looking back, they fucking _love_ the Shield. They're calling us _the_ most dominant faction of the WWE. You're getting the push. Dean's proving he's just as deadly without his pack of hounds at his back. And I-" Seth grins, suddenly every bit the smug two-faced corporate sell out, "I'm Mr Money in the Bank, and the moment you get that title I'll be there to cash it in. Between the three of us, we'll run this place."

"You've got it all planned out, huh?" Roman doesn't even try to keep the bitter edge out of his voice. It hurts. Hearing Seth sound so pleased with himself, so unconcerned of the pain he caused, the hearts he broke, it’s like having him claw into a half-scabbed wound and tear it open again. And Roman knows he shouldn’t be here, but right now he feels as if the only thing that could possibly hurt more than being this close to the brother who threw them away like so much cooling bath water is to leave this room without him. "What about the Authority?"

Seth scoffs. "By the time I'm done, the Authority will be a minor footnote in the history of Seth Rollins."

"No wonder they don't trust you," Roman mutters. He refuses to feel gratified to hear Seth dismiss them, because that would mean he's jealous, and he's not, they fucking deserve one another, all the scumbags in the company banded together in one slimy clusterfuck. The warmth pooling in his belly is just booze, through and through. "I'd forgotten how full of yourself you get when you drink."

"Yeah?" Seth moves fast, way too fast for his state of intoxication, and straddles Roman, looking down on him with a hungry expression. "I'd rather be full of you."

And before Roman can groan at the corny line or push him away or, or _something_ , Seth tangles his fingers in Roman's hair, leans down and kisses him breathless.

It hurts. It hurts like fire like dying like drowning, and he's gripping Seth's arms hard enough to leave bruises and he doesn’t care. He flips them around, pinning Seth against the mattress and kisses back, wanting to hurt him, to have him, to hold him and never let him go. Seth gasps under him, bucking his hips, and Roman remembers other times, other beds, the way Seth's always so eager, so accommodating, so willing to let him and Dean take him apart, piece by piece, and then slowly, lovingly, put him back together again. 

Dean. 

Roman shoves Seth back and rolls away, stumbling out of the bed. He's leaning against the wall, eyes closed, breathing heavily and fighting to get his thoughts back in order. 

"Fuck!" Seth snaps, slamming a hand against the mattress in frustration. Roman hears him shift his weight, sit up. A few moments pass before he sighs. "Rome, come on. I'm sorry. Come back here." He pauses. "Please?" 

Roman grits his teeth and runs a hand across his face. Everything he's ever wanted is on that bed and he'd rather tear his own heart out than walk away. Except Seth's not everything. There's Dean, too. The brother who never betrayed him, who still has his back, rides and eats and sleeps with him, ices his injuries and brings him pizza, and Roman's all kinds of fucked up over Seth but out of the two of them, he's never stabbed a brother in the back and he's not about to now. 

Roman doesn't look back, doesn't trust his resolve that far. If there’s hurt in Seth’s eyes he doesn’t want to see, and if there’s not, he's not sure he could bear it. "You left us. I'm not cheating on Dean with you." 

"Yeah, of course. I'm sorry. Come back to bed, Rome. I won't touch you, I swear." 

Roman shakes his head. "I can’t. I shouldn’t be here." He steels himself against the heartache and grabs his bag from the floor. "If you want to make amends, you know where to find us. Gonna take more than some beers and a kiss, though." 

He doesn't say _I love you_. He doesn't say _I miss you_. He doesn't say _we're lost without you._ He doesn't say _I wish I could hate you_. It’s all implied, though, and Seth’s the smart guy, he's the Architect. He'll figure it out. 


End file.
